


Mulled Wine

by LiliGrey



Series: It's like coming home [5]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Illya is a big sap, M/M, and has the worst timing ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:24:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8998150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiliGrey/pseuds/LiliGrey
Summary: Napoleon invites Illya to spend Christmas with him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sweet epilogue as promised :) Enjoy!
> 
> //////////

 

 

“No, no, wait…”

 

“A bit to the left…”

 

“Lower. Ah, yes, yes, there.”

 

“Oooh, yes, right there.” Napoleon let out a contented sigh.

 

Illya ground his teeth as he plopped the damned angel on top of the Christmas tree. In fact, he had been going at the tree for hours, because his perfectionist boyfriend was, well, a bloody perfectionist.

 

“Satisfied?” He said between clenched jaws, his patience wearing to non-existent.

 

“Mmm-hmm.” Napoleon just gave a noncommittal hum, reminding Illya of Waverly and how he always delivered crazy mission briefings while sipping his tea. It also reminded Illya of how much he wanted to strangle the man every time.

 

“Oh no, wait. The tinsel is all crooked over on that branch.”

 

Illya didn’t hold back his groan this time.

 

_Why did I agree to do this again?_

 

_Oh yes, because Napoleon looked at you with his puppy dog eyes and told you in that pleading tone he hadn’t decorated a Christmas tree since he was a child. And you happily obliged because you couldn't refuse him if he wanted you to fetch the moon when he said it like that._

 

It was probably the twentieth time he asked himself that question and every time he got to the same answer.

 

Illya just sighed and obligingly plucked the offending bit of tinsel off the branches.

 

“Careful of those baubles. Maybe you should take them down first.” Napoleon said in an entirely serious tone.

 

“Cowboy…” He spent ages getting every last one of those delicate things on there perfectly.

 

“No wait, the bell clashes with the tinsel horribly, change it with the snowflake over there.” As if not sensing the imminent danger, Napoleon just kept on instructing. “Oh, and hold that tinsel up a bit higher, to the right a bit. No, twist your hand a little, no, your wrist, yeessss, there!”

 

“Napoleon…” He felt a growl start to build up as he turned to glare at his boyfriend warningly.

 

Only to see Napoleon snap a picture of him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

 

Illya gaped and it took him a few seconds for his brain to finally catch up. Napoleon had been playing him for hours!

 

“Oh you little…” This time it was a full out growl as he dropped the damned bell and snowflake on the ground and untangled himself from the tinsel. “I will make you pay for that!”

 

Napoleon had already darted off, trailing uncontained laughter behind him.

 

It was a pathetically short chase because Napoleon had obviously forgotten that his boyfriend is an over qualified super-spy.

 

Or maybe he didn’t.

 

He held his Cowboy’s wrists above his head as he all but pinned the other man to the couch. Napoleon was looking up at him with shining eyes and blown pupils, laughter still bubbling out of him in gasping breaths. With his hair mused and grin still plastered on his face, Napoleon looked almost boyish in his delight, and Illya found maybe he didn't mind it so much if he could get to see his Cowboy like this.

 

They stayed like that for timeless seconds, just staring at each other as they calmed their breaths.

 

“Mistletoe.” Napoleon said, his voice breathless.

 

Illya blinked a little, then looked up and saw that there was indeed a small branch of mistletoe dangling from Napoleon’s fingers, which he must have nicked from the wreath at some point that evening. Or perhaps he had been holding it all this time. Illya liked that thought.

 

“Hmm. What should we do about it?” He murmured as he dropped onto his elbows, his nose brushing against Napoleon’s cheek. “Maybe like this?” He gently touched Napoleon’s lips with a ghost of a kiss, and felt the other man’s breath catch.

 

Napoleon’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and Illya’s eyes darkened.

 

“Well, that was hardly qualified as a kiss. We wouldn't want to carry bad luck into next year now would we?”

 

“Then let me fix that.”

 

Illya dived in again. The mistletoe and tinsel lay forgotten as they found more pleasant ways to spend the rest of their evening, and he set out to make his Cowboy pay for giving him a sore back.

 

 

//////////

 

 

Coming out of the shop onto the bustling streets, Illya breathed in the cool air of early evening. The fairy lights spanning the shops had just turned on, twinkling in the background, adding to the festive feel as Christmas shoppers hurried along with bags and children in toll.

 

He never really celebrated Christmas, per se, as he came from an atheist family. New Year, however, was something else entirely. Of course, there were the celebrations and festivities all leading up to the much looked forward to day that made little boys excited, but in the rare moments that he allowed himself to reminiscence, it was always the general feeling of warmth that strikes out. Warm food, warm fires, warm bed, warm laughter and warm embraces.

 

The warmth stopped the year he turned twelve.

 

They told him it was a car crash. He never quite believed it.

 

He didn’t feel any specific attachment to holidays now, because they don’t mean much to him, especially after he joined the army, then later the special-forces and now UNCLE. He was used to being alone and it’s just marking another day, another year off the calendar as he stayed in cold bunker beds or soulless hotels. If he sometimes felt a little wistful as he watched families gather around to enjoy a good meal and warmth in front of roaring fireplaces, then it was a feeling he had long gotten used to over the years.

 

This year it will be different.

 

He toyed with the small box in his pocket and took a deep breath of the cold but festive air.

 

Perhaps it was because he had finally found a place to call home again.

 

 

//////////

 

 

He found Napoleon sitting cross-legged in front of the floor-length window, only the dim light from the street lamps outside reflecting off his shadowy form. The speck of light from the cigarette between Napoleon’s fingers was the only sign of movement.

 

Napoleon never smoked.

 

He padded over on silent feet and joined him. Napoleon didn't seem surprised to see him there. They just sat together for a while, as Napoleon took slow drags and blew smoke into the air between them.

 

“Do you remember Gareth?” Napoleon was the first to break the silence. “The big guy that punched you in Rome?”

 

“Hard to forget.” He muttered.

 

Napoleon chuckled, but it was more like a cough. “Well, he was ex-CIA. He and his wife, Marianne. They led CIA’s best team before they retired.” He tapped the head of his cigarette on the ashtray.

 

“I was asked to steal their daughter.”

 

“You refused?”

 

“Oh, no. I agreed quite readily. I was becoming desperate then, anything to throw the CIA off my back, including getting my hands dirty.”

 

He didn’t interrupt this time, because he knew Napoleon would prefer a silent listener now.

 

“She was like a little angel, you know? God, I hate children, and babies, but it was just…” He waved his hand as if he didn’t quite have the word for it. Illya felt that he sort of understood.

 

“I double-crossed my employers. Helped free Gareth’s team as well. It was ironic, really, because they were the same team sent after me.” Napoleon gave a mirthless smile and took a deep drag.

 

Napoleon hadn’t outright said it, but Illya knew how to read between the lines. People who have personal vendettas and can plot against CIA’s best team are not to be crossed. And Illya knew all too well himself that there can be much worse things than death. By doing what he did, Napoleon had effectively put himself on the cross.

 

“I was really surprised when they came back to get me.”

 

Illya isn’t. For people like him, a debt like that will not be easily owed.

 

“The CIA offered me a life sentence with them, or a life sentence in prison. I chose prison. I'm done with being forced to do things. I'd at least like to choose my own way to rot."

 

“But they then offer you clean slate and freedom instead?” Illya hazarded a guess.

 

“Yeah. You should have seen old Sander’s face when he said it.”

 

Illya nodded. If CIA had forced it, they would have had a prison break and complete mutiny from their best team on hand.

 

A silence fell over them as they watched the snow, now falling in earnest. His hand had grabbed Napoleon’s sometime during the conversation and he was now rubbing circles into the warm skin, saying a silent thank you to Napoleon for telling him about his past, or at least the part that truly mattered.

 

“How did you meet Gaby?”

 

As he had hoped, the mention of their witty friend brought a real smile onto Napoleon’s face.

 

“You won’t believe it.” He snorted, but his expression became fond. “I was unwittingly her getaway driver in one of her earliest missions in Berlin. I thought I was saving a damsel in distress, and later found myself being forced out of my car at gun point. Luckily I was out of the business then, or my reputation as a thief would be utterly ruined.”

 

Illya chuckled. That sounded like his Chop Shop Girl alright.

 

“Oh, almost forgot.” Napoleon turned to him, the heaviness that settled over him earlier was gone now and replaced by an innocent expression on his face. “Marianne invited us to Christmas dinner. You will come, won’t you?”

 

How could he possibly refuse after a tale like that?

 

The sneaky bastard.

 

 

//////////

 

 

Golden sunlight filtered through the half closed curtains, giving the room a dream-like haze. Illya let his eyes trace the light lazily over the sleeping figure in his arms, idly counting the dark lashes that cast shadows on his boyfriend’s cheeks. Perhaps that particular term will change today.

 

He felt his limbs tense at the thought but consciously relaxed himself. Anticipation and nervous energy buzzed through his veins, making it impossible for him to go back to sleep.

 

Perhaps he ought to enjoy his New Year present then.

 

He started by gently nosing through those soft curls, then gently nipped at the soft skin behind his ears. He ghosted his lips over chiseled jaw and exposed throat, slowly making his way down towards the burgeoning interest he felt there.

 

Above him, Napoleon began to stir. He pulled up and buried his face into the crook of Napoleon’s neck.

 

“Good morning.”

 

“Mmm.” Napoleon gave a satisfied hum in response.

 

Grinning, he shifted his body on top and ground down, capturing Napoleon’s moan with his lips. He brought a hand downwards and gave them both a firm pull.

 

It was a lazy affair as they slowly built towards a mutual climax with the delicious friction of skin against skin. Afterwards they lay together to calm their racing pulse. Illya would never admit it, but he loved post-coital cuddles.

 

“And a happy new year to you, too.” Napoleon grinned up at him, now fully awake. “Guess I’ll have to wait a few more minutes for my present it seems.” His mouth tugged down in distaste as he surveyed himself. “Want to join me in the shower?”

 

“Maybe later.”

 

Napoleon’s eyebrows shot up and he gave him an indiscernible look, as if trying to figure out what he’s up to. “Suit yourself then.”

 

As the water started running, Illya went to prepare. He hoped he knew what he was up to, too.

 

All too soon, Napoleon stepped out of the bathroom.

 

“Peril. I have this strange feeling that you are planning some…Oh.” Napoleon stopped in his tracks and his motion of drying his hair. “Going somewhere?”

 

Standing there in the middle of their bedroom in his best suit, his boyfriend blinking at him incredulously in his bathrobe, Illya realized that he really hadn’t thought this through at all.

 

“I, uh, I, that is…”

 

Napoleon’s eyebrows rose up in an expression that clearly said, “Well?”

 

Well, he’ll just have to soldier on.

 

Hands trembling, he reached into his jacket pocket and carefully withdrew the small box that he had kept stowed away. He fumbled slightly as he held it upright, feeling Napoleon’s stare boring into it. In that moment, it felt far heavier than it should.

 

He gingerly got onto one knee and opened the box. It was a simple golden band. It should be a simple few words.

 

He licked his dried lips.

 

“Will you marry me, Napoleon?”

 

His eyes never left Napoleon’s face, but Napoleon was staring at the box in his hand with glazed eyes. He drew in a shuddering breath, fingers twitching as he reached a hand out. “You…you can’t just…” His voice caught on the words as he drew in another gulp of air. “Oh, _fuck_.”

 

Illya looked up slightly worriedly as the other man was now visibly shaking. “Cowboy? Are you…?”

 

“ _Yes!_ Of course yes, you idiot!” And with that he found himself with an armful of wet hair and skin, as Napoleon latched onto him with a force that threatened to send them both to the ground, as if determined to crawl under his skin.

 

He shushed the frantic man in his arms, running soothing palm-strokes across his back. “Let me take care of you.” He murmured.

 

Slinging an arm across the other man’s back, he shifted them both over to the bed and gently deposited his Cowboy on the bed covers. He removed each piece of his suit with military efficiency, dropping them into a careless pile beside the bed.

 

Never breaking eye contact, he pulled them down and made love to the man he decided to treasure for his whole life.

 

He held Napoleon tightly as they both basked in the aftershocks, his Cowboy’s head nestled safely on his chest.

 

His smiled as Napoleon brought his hand up, holding the ring out to him. It seems his little thief had stolen more than just his heart.

 

Solemnly, he picked it up and gently slipped it onto Napoleon’s ring finger. They both took a moment to watch the way it glinted off the morning sun.

 

“Engaged?”

 

“Engaged.” He confirmed as he pressed a kiss to his fiancé’s finger. He liked that term.

 

“You know, you have the worst timing ever, Peril, but luckily, I love you anyway.”

 

“I love you, too.” He felt Napoleon smile into his skin.

 

He was a lucky man indeed.

 

 

//////////

 

*Epilogue*

 

//////////

 

When Illya opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his wedding band, sitting snugly on his ring finger, as another similarly ringed hand curled protectively over his.

 

His gaze followed those fingers up, to see a head of familiar black curls nestled on the familiar white hospital sheets.

 

As he withdrew his hand and ran his fingers through those soft curls, now with hidden streaks of grey, Napoleon stirred and blinked up at him with bleary eyes. He saw the moment recognition registered in those eyes. And despite his rumpled appearance, the dark shadows and worry lines that have started to take residence, Napoleon still managed to send him a smile that lit up the bleak room.

 

Lying there, looking at the smile that still made his heart tremble after all these years, feeling deft fingers twine with his own, he finally made up his mind.

 

“Hey.” He croaked, his voice scratchy from disuse.

 

“Hey back.” Napoleon’s smile turned a bit watery. “Gave me a real scare this time.” His tone was teasing, but Illya could see the way his eyes still looked haunted.

 

"Maybe I retire early."

 

“What brought this on?” Napoleon’s tone was light, but his eyes betrayed his worry.

 

Illya gave a half shrug. “You. Us. This.” He gave their twined fingers a soft tug.

 

“Oh.” Napoleon’s gaze also shifted to their hand, their wedding band, and his expression became soft. Toying with the golden metal, he seemed a bit lost for words. "I never asked you, because I know you'll miss the field work. I don't want you giving that up for me."

 

"Do you miss being art thief, Cowboy?"

 

"I," Napoleon frowned, a little puzzled at the comparison, then it seemed to dawn on him. "Compared to this? No, I won't change this for anything."

 

"Neither would I."

 

Many weeks later, stretched out together on the peaceful seaside, Illya was enjoying his first holiday of retirement. Some days he might be wistful, some days restless, but mostly, it’s just a profound relief and lightness, like a tired traveler that finally reached his destination.

 

It’s a peculiar feeling.

 

"Do you know what the most romantic thing is, Peril?" Napoleon eyed him playfully.

 

"Growing old together." He replied without missing a beat.

 

Napoleon's mouth dropped open then snapped close. He cleared his throat, but his voice was still a bit gruff. "I was about to wax some poetry and nonsense about the ocean, but yeah, that. Definitely that."

 

Illya smiled.

 

It’s just like coming home.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that’s it then for this AU. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I had writing it :) I’ll just wish you all a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!


End file.
